The Perfect Gift
by Aashlee Elizabeth
Summary: Nyota quests to find a gift for Spock, something that is personal, logical, and perfect.


I do not own the rights to the _Star Trek_ universe, therefore I do not profit from this story.

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><p>THE PERFECT GIFT<p>

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><p>Social convention for Terran end-of-year observances prescribed the exchange of gifts. Knowing this, Spock calculated the odds at 98.6 percent in favor of Nyota enaging him in the custom. Corroborating his observations was McCoy's loud insistence that "If you don't get her something and something good, Mr. Logical, you'll logic yourself into a permanent berth in your precious physics lab."<p>

Much as he enjoyed his lab, he enjoyed Nyota's company more, so he had carefully chosen and applied his considerable talents and resources to prepare a suitable, lasting tome of his appreciation. Thus, he had satisfied the standard seasonal practice and navigated another Terran practice with minimal disruption…or so he thought.

He had not factored in Nyota's quest to find him the "perfect" (her word) token of appreciation in return.

"Spock, please, what would you value or enjoy receiving? I need some ideas." Nyota had persisted requesting gift preferences every morning at breakfast for the past five days, and every morning for the past five days, Spock had stated that he required nothing, as he was already content. For a male of Spock's minimalist tastes, it was true.

The fact that he had already procured a gift for her, however, only exacerbated the situation. Nyota's gift perched, neatly wrapped, on a shelf over the desk in his quarters waiting for deployment at the appropriate juncture. She teased him, accused him of putting it in the most visible place just to torture her.

While her reactions to this situation fascinated him, perhaps amused him on some level, he merely raised both eyebrows and widened his eyes in pure innocence. "That is illogical," he said. "Your father cautioned me about such matters."

"My father?" Nyota laughed, taking the bait. "When have you been talking to my father? And what did he say?"

"Provoking an Uhura woman is unwise."

She poked a finger into his shoulder blade. "Oh, yes, it is, Mister, and that is _exactly_ why you placed that gift on your shelf, out there front and center where I could see it and obsess over it…for the_ last two weeks_!"

If Spock had purposely calculated the timeframe or placement for maximum reaction, he chose not to elucidate. Any protestations to the contrary, even citing cultural ignorance of human courtship rituals (he was Vulcan, after all), would have simply provoked her to a greater degree beyond the point of amusement, perilously close to igniting an ire that would require a higher degree of romanticizing on his part to eradicate.

There was an interesting challenge, and Spock never shied from challenges. Therefore, he simply straightened himself into the aristocratic posture that epitomized his social upbringing, raised his right eyebrow, and stared back at her.

She only laughed at his display of bogus propriety, then focused her own mock glare on him. "Give me some ideas here so I don't give you something useless or illogical."

"Nyota…"

She narrowed her eyes, tilted her head, and shifted her weight to her left hip. "You're getting something whether you like it or not," she stated, "and I've only got a week left to get it. Your suggestions, Sir, by tomorrow morning."

Spock recognized this particular kinesiology. The probability of imminent irritation increased when her hands went to her hips, her head tilted, and her eyes bore into him with an intensity worthy of his grandmother at her most imperious.

Then, inexplicably, she softened her doe eyes and lips, and tilted her head up to look at him in the way she did with no one else. "Please…?"

Accurately reading human moods when they changed swiftly often proved difficult, but something—Spock had yet to quantify what that was—tugged at a baser part of himself to accede to her request. And he could not argue that Nyota's pursuit of accurate data to effect a successful outcome was illogical.

Logic aside, he noted Nyota's delight in giving gifts for the aid, comfort, or pleasure of their recipients as his own mother had done. This was one of those inexplicable "human woman" traits that Spock, were he to be completely honest, had come to value.

Still maintaining the Vulcan persona on the outside, except for a sparkle in his eye, he made his promise: "I will endeavor to do so."

She laughed again, smiled, touched his temple gently before parting to begin her shift on the bridge for the day. "I look forward to it."

Nyota and Spock never had the chance to have that discussion. Four hours later mid-shift, the Enterprise received a distress call from the colony on Delphi Ypsilon. A rogue asteroid had hit the small planet. Scientists there reported that the resulting dust cloud zooming into the atmosphere would temporarily render the planet uninhabitable once it spread. The small colony needed an immediate evacuation.

Over the next few days, the rescue operation and the stabilization of the planet's power grid and facilities consumed their time. Nyota and her department coordinated messages and managed traffic between the ship's Emergency Services and colony personnel. Spock split his time between administrative oversight of ship's operations and the science department's investigations into the asteroid's origins and its effects on planet's environment. The days divided into 18 hours of work with 6 hours allowed for sleep and hygiene. The days stretched into weeks, even after the arrival of other Federation aid ships.

Finally, with the colonists safely relocated, the colony shut down until terraforming operations could commence. With other ships and specialists handling the remaining repairs and resupply, the _Enterprise_ was free to go.

During those weeks, the crew had worked through Hanukkah, Solstice, Christmas, Boxing Day, New Year's Day…celebrations that many in the Enterprise's predominantly human crew had looked forward to. It did not stop Kirk from declaring a ship's holiday all the same. "We've worked our butts off; we deserve a party. Everyone's invited," he announced once ship's operations had returned to normal. And so, "Enterprise Day" and its festivities covering Terran and exoTerran observances falling within the previous timeframe were set for the end of the week.

Nyota liked Kirk's idea even if she would never tell him this. After the last month, the crew, herself included, needed a morale-booster, and she loved parties.

The only downside was the lame gift, a slim, black wallet with compartments for credit chits and data cards, she managed to find for Spock. Aiding the colonists had depleted ship's stores of supplies and goods; very little had been left by time she had a few moments to look. She could blame him–he never did tell her what he might like–but then, she should have come up with something more suitable for him than a wallet.

As she stood outside Spock's quarters to pick him up for Kirk's party, she wondered about the present he had ready for her, the one ready weeks ago. She guessed he would be giving it to her within the next few minutes. Reluctantly, she rang Spock's door chime.

"Come," he said, and the door opened. There he stood, handsomely attired in civilian wear (no uniforms—Kirk's orders), a beautiful black Vulcan-style suit, embroidered with a silky black thread and accented in burgundy and gold. Upon seeing her, his eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly as she walked in. The door closed behind her.

As if she did not already feel bad, the gift that had been on the shelf now sat on Spock's desk awaiting her.

He walked up and passed his first two fingers over her temple in a Vulcan sign of affection. As he did, his brows came together in confusion at what he sensed. "Nyota, what concerns you?"

She put on a happy face. Her problem, as for any human in a Vulcan-human relationship trying to hide something, was her Vulcan's telepathy. The realist in Nyota gave up the pretense.

"Spock, I'm sorry. I never found you the right gift. With the colony rescue and…"

He eyed the package in her hand, then looked up in question.

She sighed. "Consider this is a placeholder. I hope you like it, but it's not the kind of gift I wanted to give you."

"What did you wish to gift me?"

"Maybe what I mean is that this gift is insufficient, and I feel terrible about it."

"Do not," he said. "I require nothing."

"But you got me a gift. And you've had it for weeks."

"Such gestures bring you pleasure."

"They do. But half the fun of a holiday gift is in giving something in return, something special, something you've put some thought into."

Spock nodded in thought, then both eyebrows rose. "The evidence suggests that you have exceeded those parameters."

Nyota tilted her head to her left. Her brow creased. "What do you mean?"

Spock eyed the package in her hand. "Clearly you have expended considerable energies, perhaps to the point of obsession, in procuring your selection."

She huffed. "Spock, this isn't funny! I already feed bad."

"I did not intend levity. Come, please be seated."

Nyota followed him to his couch and sat as instructed while Spock retrieved his gift. He set himself beside her and placed the flat, rectangular red package in her hands.

She opened it. Within the box, placed on top of the contents was a smaller blue box. Nyota opened it to find a single truffle–it was an old joke between them. She scowled at him while he maintained his innocent expression, which caused her to laugh. When she removed the inner wrapping from the rest of the box, there was a PADD. She looked back at him with one eyebrow raised.

Spock shifted closer to her. "Activate it."

Nyota's thumb hit the "on" switch, and the screen lit to reveal a deep red, almost burgundy rose with the caption _Rosa Grandiflora "Nyota"_ next to it. Beneath were descriptions of the plant, its origins, ideal growing conditions, and Royal Horticultural Society registration. As Nyota read the information, she brought her hand to her mouth, trying to contain herself further with each paragraph she read.

"Omigod…. You created a new rose variety…for me?"

"With some assistance from Mr. Sulu," he replied softly. He shifted even closer, leaned his head to touch hers, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "We sent twelve specimens in stasis to the Royal Horticultural Society for propagation and five specimens to your mother. She has cultivated them in her garden for your enjoyment upon our next visit."

"Thank you, Spock. I am touched, I am...this is too much."

"I do not understand."

She set the package down next to her and wrapped both arms around his waist, leaning into him. "First of all, know that I love it. But, Spock, you put all that effort into creating a rose for me, and you registered it. That's major." She drew back enough to look at his face. "It's a declaration about us. Any gardener who selects this rose will read the description and know that you created it for me."

Spock was confused again. Though Nyota valued discretion for their relationship, she no longer wanted secrecy. "Are you displeased?"

"No, no, I—." Nyota drew in a breath. "I'm overwhelmed. It's beautiful…and amazing, thoughtful…perfect." In frustration. Nyota waved her small gift to Spock in the air. "There's no way I can give this to you now. It's not good enough. It would be an insult. I love you too much."

Spock recognized that he needed to make another declaration before Nyota's emotions erupted into a state of guilt that would take weeks to rectify. With some difficulty, he reached within his human self to find the right words. He opened his mouth, but hesitated.

Nyota grabbed onto his hesitation. "Spock, it's—"

"—Nyota," he held up his hand, "you are _k'hat'n'dlawa_. To me. Always." The words tumbled out before he caught himself.

Nyota stared back, surprised.

Spock refocused his thoughts on his message to regain control. "As such," he continued quietly, "your gifts are, perhaps, intangible, yet their effects are immeasurable in their scope. Material gifts are irrelevant. If there is an imbalance in our exchange today, then my debt is the greater one."

If Spock had intended to avoid a major emotional display, he evidently miscalculated because Nyota burst into tears. She opened her mouth to say something, but words refused to emerge. All she could manage in her heightened emotional state was to grab his face and kiss him multiple times instead. Each kiss spread her tears further until his face was as wet as hers.

Vulcan patience duly tested, she noticed his discomfort and then began to laugh while reaching for a tissue to wipe him dry. As she finished stroking the wetness from his face, his eyes glanced at the package next to her.

Nyota followed his gaze. "You really want to see what it is?"

"I admit, I am curious."

Nyota laughed again while she picked up the small box. "Happy Enterprise Day, Spock."

Spock touched her hand, lingering in the contact longer than he needed to as she handed him her gift. This human gift exchange ritual was nearly complete, and Nyota was pleased. Though Spock rarely characterized any day as "happy," he might admit to a sense of contentment in having everything he wanted at this moment.

Including a slim, black wallet.

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><p><strong>Author's Note, December 24, 2014:<strong> Greetings and blessings to all this holiday season!


End file.
